


A Considerable Head Start

by ughbutidontwantto



Series: Reveal One-Shots I Wrote in 2014 [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (kind of), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Camelot has a serious class problem, Gen, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Merlin deserves better, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), my favorite genre is people having critical conversations, posting a fic 6 years after writing, weird that's not more of a tag tbh, when villains have more regard for you than friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:54:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ughbutidontwantto/pseuds/ughbutidontwantto
Summary: Merlin is frighteningly competent and his friends are correctly concerned. Obviously they're going to follow him out to the woods. And obviously they're not going to like what they hear.
Relationships: Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Reveal One-Shots I Wrote in 2014 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886992
Comments: 23
Kudos: 504
Collections: Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms





	A Considerable Head Start

**Author's Note:**

> Look whose back with another one of these! That's right! Please enjoy my deeply indulgent 2014 takes on like Merlin's whole deal. This one is technically more of a pre-reveal (a preveal if you will), but let's be real--magic wasn't the only thing people desperately needed to learn about Merlin.
> 
> Finished November 2, 2014, 6:51 PM  
> Revised January 17, 2015, 9:30 PM  
> Revised May 17, 2019, 12:13 PM  
> Revised November 5, 2019, 11:49 AM  
> Posted January 17, 2021, 8:38 PM

Merlin was acting strange and Arthur, who was  _ not _ stupid, couldn’t help but notice. It had been going on for almost a full week, so of course he noticed. He was King! It was his job to notice. He was responsible for the well-being of his subjects, and this one in particular. Truthfully, he didn’t like seeing his servant--decidedly not friend--so… un-Merlin like. Though he knew Merlin was often quick to worry, Arthur generally thought of him as being a fundamentally cheerful man, sometimes frustratingly so. At the very least Merlin was supposed to be happy when they were all safe and sound in Camelot. But no, for the past few days he had been just a little too quiet. He was still disrespectful, but the jokes came out like his heart wasn’t quite in it, saying them only because he knew it was expected. And he was hardly the only one to notice. Strange mood or not, Merlin was still Arthur’s living shadow, which gave the knights and Guinevere plenty of opportunity to observe.

“You are going to talk to him, aren’t you? Surely you’ve waited long enough, hoping that this would resolve itself.” Guinevere was looking at him with plaintive eyes. They had long since finished their food, but were still at the table trying to come to a solution about the manservant’s strange behavior.

“Why do I have to be the one?” He chose to ignore the scoff from lower down the table. It sounded like Gwaine, but he wouldn’t know if he didn’t look. The two royals had decided to eat dinner with the four Round Table Knights in one of the smaller dining rooms. That the six would eat together wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it was still a little unusual. As it so happened, this dinner was really more an excuse to talk about Merlin. Not that they acknowledged this aloud.

“We already tried, actually,” Arthur looked curiously at Percival. “A few days ago, Elyan, Gwaine and I went to ask him if he was alright.”

“And?”

“What do you think, Princess? First he laughed off the question, and then changed the subject.”

“You know, before this I would have said Merlin would be rubbish at hiding something” Elyan chuckled a little, “But now that I think about it, he’s the sort of person who can talk for hours without saying a thing. He’s surprisingly good at answering every question except the one he’s actually been asked.”

Arthur decided not to comment on his manservant’s potential for deceit, it was not a concept he felt comfortable contemplating. “What makes you so sure that he’ll actually answer me?” His question was met with a rather unimpressed silence. “Well I’ve already given him the night off, so it’s not like I can summon him now.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t though.” They all turned to see a thoughtful look on Leon’s face. “I’m not saying it’s alright that he’s obviously hiding something, but there has to be a reason doesn’t there? He doesn’t seem to want us to know, and however much we might not like it, should we not still respect it? Respect him?” Arthur frowned. He didn’t much like the idea that Merlin, with whom he shared nearly everything, wasn’t being as forthcoming. Surely he must have realized he could talk to him if he needed to. And even if he felt he couldn’t—Arthur mentally winced as he thought of all the things that might have given him that idea—surely he was comfortable enough with at least one of the knights or Guinevere.

“Oh of course we respect him, but he’s our friend! What if he needs help, but feels he can’t ask! I would never accuse him of pride, but he  _ can _ be stubborn sometimes about leaning on other people.” Guinevere was using that voice that Arthur always found very difficult to say no to. The last week had been busy with visiting nobles, which Arthur had happily used as an excuse to avoid this, but with so many of them leaving tomorrow or the day after next he was fast running out of reasons not to personally interfere. Not that he didn’t want to help, but he had been hoping Merlin would’ve snapped out of whatever this was by now. Arthur was hopeless at these sorts of emotional things.

He sighed, “Yes, I’ll try talking to him.”

“Now?” Perfect. On top of the voice, she was using the eyes.

“What do you mean now? I gave him the night off, at your request I might add! He’s probably off at the tavern!” Gwaine choked into his cup.

“The tavern? Arthur, Merlin is never in the tavern.”

“What do you mean? Of course he goes to the tavern! Where else would he be when he goes missing?”

“I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you it isn’t any tavern I know of. Don’t you think I would have seen him? Besides, I’ve been asking him to come with me for years now and he always says no. I’m not even sure if I’ve ever actually seen him drink anything harder than cider.”

“But he’s been telling you that’s where he’s been going?” Leon shared a look with his king, friend or not, servants were not supposed to lie to the king.

Arthur looked a little startled, “Well technically Gaius did once. I’d just sort of assumed…. When I call him out on it, he usually denies it, but I just thought he was covering for himself…” Arthur felt exceedingly uncomfortable with the looks he was receiving. “Where could he possibly be going then?” he snapped.

“Wherever it is, it looks like he’s going there now.” With almost perfect synchronicity, they all turned to where Gwaine was looking. From the window they could see a familiar figure walking across the courtyard. He kept glancing over his shoulder, but otherwise seemed perfectly at ease. He knew exactly when to duck as two guards walked across one of the upper arcades. “Practiced,” Elyan observed.

Before he was entirely aware of what he was doing, Arthur was out of his seat. He was already striding through the hallway leading to his chambers before the rest caught up with him.

“Arthur, just what do you think you’re doing?” Guinevere sounded concerned, but he was too focused on grabbing what he would need to worried about this fact.

“You aren’t just going to confront him, are you?” Gwaine was using his best you’re-an-idiot voice.

“No, I’m going to follow him. By the direction he was going in, it looks like he’s heading for the forest. It would be stupid enough in daytime, but at night and during this time of year, what with bandits and Saxons, its damn near suicidal. I’m not really comfortable with him getting himself killed just because he doesn’t feel like sharing.” He had just finished making sure his pack had everything and that he had his sword.

“Well when you put it that way,” Gwaine said with a grin, “it almost sounds reasonable. And what sort of knights would we be if we let our king go out in such suicidal conditions alone!” Arthur frowned, but he knew the knights well enough to say nothing. Sparing a brief moment of thanks that the knights were already ready for a quick trek through the forest, he made a move toward the door. He stopped, however, when he saw his wife fastening her cloak. He was about to say something when she raised an imperious eyebrow.

“He is my best friend, you are my husband, and you are taking my brother and closest friends with you. We have discussed this before. I will not be left to stew in our bedchambers while everyone I love is out risking their lives.” He shut his mouth, there wasn’t time for this. Merlin had been walking quickly and already had a head start.

It was surprisingly difficult for them to pick up on Merlin’s trail. Arthur felt grudgingly impressed by his friend’s stealth. If Merlin had been planning to go much further into the forest they might have had some serious trouble. As it was, they found him only after five minutes of solid, though very silent searching. He was squatting in what might generously be called a small clearing. Whatever respect Arthur felt previously vanished in a second. The little idiot had started a fire. It was like he was trying to draw attention to himself! Worse, he seemed completely absorbed by the dancing flames, making him the perfect target for someone who was hoping to sneak up on a defenseless traveler. 

He was tempted to sneak up on him now just to prove the point, but was stopped by the sudden feeling that the man before him was nearer a stranger than his usual dogsbody. Arthur had never seen Merlin so completely still, nor had he ever seen this odd, blank expression. The constantly flickering light did strange things to the man’s face, making it seem even more angular than normal. The reflected fire in his eyes made him look almost dangerous.

“Took you long enough.” Arthur started at Merlin’s sudden comment. He saw that he wasn’t the only one. For a moment he thought Merlin was talking to them, but the servant had yet to make any move that would indicate he knew that they were all crouching around trees just a little ahead and to the left of him. Though that hardly meant anything: even as he had spoken, Merlin had barely moved and his eyes were just as glued to the fire as before. Arthur decided he wanted to be sure he had been caught before revealing himself and had just silently communicated this to his companions when they finally heard the first sounds of what must have caught Merlin’s attention. Someone was walking towards the manservant. Whoever was approaching was laughing. The sound, soft and deadly, started an immediate tug-of-war in Arthur’s mind. He desperately wanted to find out what was going on, something he thought he could only really do if he stayed hidden. But his worry for his friend had just increased tenfold. It was the calming hand of Percival who kept him from moving forward. He saw worry in the larger man’s eyes, but also a sort of confidence. He was asking him to trust Merlin.

The figure finally came into view, and Arthur was surprised that he recognized the man. It was one of his guests, a Northern lord by the name of Mallory. At first he looked just like Arthur had always seen him, dressed in dark, flattering, and highly expensive fabrics. He knew the man to be in his forties at least, but there was something almost timeless about his features which made him appear both younger and older than his true age. His reputation was a mixed one: though he treated his people well, he was on the ruthless side when it came to his peers. Known to be calculating and harsh, he hadn’t inherited his power, but gained it through a series of relatively bloodless coups. As a person, he was even harder to define. He had the charm of a courtier and a pleasing manner of speech and bearing that automatically put people off guard. Hypnotic eyes encouraged trust, while his sly smile warned against it. Frankly, he had made Arthur uncomfortable, but even more he had inspired a strange sense of inadequacy in the king. He couldn’t help but feel a bit young and unpolished next to the man’s easy elegance.

The only thing he could feel was shock, therefore, when he saw how the lord was looking at his manservant. Naturally there was a threat in them, but it wasn’t quite the kind that Arthur had been expecting. Arthur had faced many people who wanted to kill him, so he recognized murderous intent when he saw it, but he was unfamiliar with the predatory gleam in the lord’s eyes. He looked at Merlin with something almost like appreciation, but that didn’t make any sense. Arthur would concede, though not out loud, that there was much more to Merlin then most ever saw and some of it was truly admirable. Yet how would the lord, who, as far as Arthur knew, had barely spent time with Merlin know nearly enough about him to adopt that sort of expression?

“Now, now, my boy, your king may enjoy insolence in his servants, but  _ I _ have not yet decided how I feel about your wayward tongue.”

“I did not think you asked me here as just a servant,” Merlin finally looked up and Arthur had never seen such raw distaste in those familiar eyes. He straightened himself and after a beat of silence added a quiet, “my lord”. As per usual, he had managed that trick where he made the honorific sound like the worst of insults.

“How very true! But you know,” he leaned in a little closer, as though he and Merlin had suddenly become close confidantes, “I rather suspect that you have never, in the entirety of your whole life, been just a servant.” He smiled at Merlin as though he had just paid him a very large compliment. Seeing the two men together, they made a striking pair. Arthur hadn’t noticed before, but they actually looked fairly similar, with pale faces and electric blue eyes framed by dark hair. Mallory’s features were less sharp than Merlin’s, but Arthur wondered if that might have been due to age as much as genetics. It was surprisingly easy to imagine an older Merlin looking something like this man. But maybe the reason they looked so much alike had very little to do with physical features at all, but instead the quiet confidence and  _ power  _ that both were currently radiating. Which curiously did not seem as strange from the manservant as Arthur would have thought. Whatever similarities existed ended there, however. Mallory was doing his best to look charmingly avuncular, while Merlin’s entire body was held tight in controlled contempt.

“I do not expect you to answer, of course, but I do wonder what it must be like.” Mallory began to circle Merlin, his smile becoming cruel. “Do you know how I have gained my power? Normally, I would assume a man in your lowly position would have no idea of the political maneuverings, but  _ you _ , well you  _ are _ special, aren’t you.”

“You watch people. You study the inner workings of courts and discover their weaknesses and then you exploit them.”

Mallory seemed inordinately pleased, looking at him like he was his prized pupil, “Very good,” he purred, “very, very good. And what do you imagine I found when I came to Camelot?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, that I find very hard to believe! I have been watching you very closely this week, very close indeed and so I speak with authority when I say that your eyes are nearly as sharp as mine.  _ You  _ miss nothing and I have no doubt that you have a better idea of Camelot’s weaknesses then even her best knights.” He continued his slow circles and, to Merlin’s credit, the man remained admirably still and impassive. The lord did not seem disappointed that his prey refused to rise to the bait; in fact, it seemed to delight him further. With a careless shrug he began again, “Perhaps you truly do not know. Well I suppose that does not surprise me. After all, we all tell lies when we look in the mirror.” It seemed that was finally enough for Merlin to lose control. It was only for a brief moment, but his friends didn’t miss the quick, startled spasm that crossed his features. They knew Mallory would not have missed it either.

“You cannot be so surprised! Of course, it is you! You see, Camelot’s biggest vulnerability is not her idiot king, nor her common queen. It is not the weak spot in the north wall or the fact that while her best knights may indeed be skilled, the rest are twice inbred thugs and her guards not worth two of the chinks in their finely made mail. It is not the strange incongruity of a people who would wage war against magic without understanding the first thing about it. It is not even the fact that this whole blasted kingdom might have one of the most beautiful citadels in the whole Five Kingdoms, but is still just one poor winter away from famine. Of course all of these things are true, but—”

“You’re going to be one of those, then?” Merlin sounded bored, and Arthur couldn’t tell how much of that was an act. It clearly bothered the lord, who finally stopped his circles. Because of where he was standing, he had to look over his shoulder to see Merlin. “You’re going to waste both of our time with useless chatter and all for what? Just so you can have a go? So you can get a rise out of me like we’re children?” When Merlin rolled his eyes, Arthur was worried that Mallory might slap him, the flash of anger was certainly threatening enough. But to Arthur’s surprise, the lord’s fury disappeared as quickly as it came and was replaced by that same absurd delight and a frightening laugh.

“So you’ve decided to fight back? Good, good! I was beginning to worry that you were not the man I thought you were.” He turned so that he was fully facing Merlin again, “But I can see that I have offended you, for which I am very sorry. Besides, I should have been clearer. It is not that your presence is Camelot’s weakness, but your absence. You are, after all, the only reason Camelot still stands and you are the only reason that it shall continue, it is—”

“Except you’re going to kill me.”

A flash of annoyance, “Well yes, of course I’m going to kill you!” his tone impatient, “And while I sincerely admire this pluck in you, I would very much appreciate it,” his eyes turned momentarily deadly, “if you would let me finish. Now, where was I?” He hadn’t really wanted an answer, so Arthur nearly groaned when Merlin gave him one. A very sarcastic, drawling one.

“You were saying something about me being Camelot’s saving grace.” Arthur didn’t know what to make of this response, just as he didn’t know quite what to think about the lord’s rather outlandish conclusions. They sounded ridiculous, but as the king turned them over in his mind, they didn’t necessarily  _ feel _ ridiculous.

Mallory’s expression was distinctly ugly now, “The point is, I have been watching you and so I want to know,” he was leaning into Merlin, who still looked as bored as ever, “what it is like to be the most important person in Camelot, yet have absolutely no one realize it?” He spoke the words like each one was supposed to stab the younger man. “What don’t you do, my boy? You have your duties as a servant, of course, but they hardly matter do they? Even you must be aware that as a servant you are middling at best.” Merlin shrugged. “But well, that is just your excuse to get close to the king.” Arthur felt the others stir at these words, but he was too frozen to react. Was this the moment, the final shoe to drop, where he would discover treachery in the one place he would never be able to recover from? A tense silence followed, which was finally broken by Mallory’s patronizing voice.

“You have become his most important advisor. In fact, you have become everyone’s advisor. A twenty year old wise man, you are. To have the ear of a king, of an entire court, it is a precious thing indeed. Most men would be tempted by such power, but not you, no never you. Instead you squander it by helping people who refuse you the respect given to a dog. What exactly has their friendship bought you? Here you are, all alone in the middle of a forest, about to be killed for a king who is too stupid to understand who is real friends are! No wonder he has been betrayed so many times, I would—” 

“Don’t.” Merlin barked, “Don’t finish that sentence. Don’t even think an ending to it.” Before this moment, Arthur had certainly been confused by his manservant’s behavior. Merlin was acting atypical in the extreme, and yet there had at least been something recognizable enough that Arthur would have been able to say that the cool man before him and the bumbling manservant were the same man without  _ too _ much difficulty. But now, familiar blue eyes were flashing with a blazing rage and a usually soft voice was ringing with a ferocity that belonged somewhere far away from civilized society. There was no gentleness or kindness in this Merlin and it frightened him to his core. Even Lord Mallory looked a little intimidated.

Mallory composed his face, but his voice was softer when he said, “But then your role as counselor is just the beginning of all that you do. How many times have you saved his life? Or that of his queen or his knights? How many times have you been the decisive hand in saving Camelot from one of her many crises? How many threats do you take care of before Arthur can ever discover their existence? You do not look like much of a warrior, and yet here you stand, alive against all conceivable odds and determined to drag that hapless king with you.”

“He is not—” Merlin looked annoyed, clearly he hadn’t meant to speak, but with a small sigh decided to finish his what he started. “He is not hapless or stupid or whatever else you’ve called him. Arthur Pendragon is a great king and a good man.” There was a ghost of a smile, “Believe me, he can be a bit of prat sometimes, but he has a kind heart and a strong mind. And he has finally learned to truly listen. There is no greater trait in a king.” It was strange: Arthur had heard similar words from his manservant, usually in the middle of some catastrophe. They had always acted as a much needed balm for him, infusing him with the last bit of confidence required to overcome whatever darkness was threatening him. But that warm feeling was nothing compared to hearing Merlin say these things when he had no idea Arthur was even there, and in such a voice that left no room for argument.

“Perhaps, perhaps. Truthfully, I do not care enough about your king to judge him, and it is certainly not why we are here now. Though, I would wager that whatever greatness the Pendragon Prince has in him is a credit to your hard work more than his.”

“Arthur would have been fine without me.”

The lord laughed. “I said that people tell lies in the mirror, but I don’t think I have ever encountered a man who was more unaware of himself than you seem to be. You really believe that, don’t you?” Merlin was back to his determined silence. “Ah well, it is the fault of your secrecy I suppose. On your own, I think you would be the sort of man who would go his entire life without uttering a single falsehood. Yet here you stand, having spent so long in the dark that you no longer remember what it is like to work in the light. Worse even, you have begun to believe the lies you tell. Here is the truth: Arthur would not have been fine without you, he would be dead. This is a fact, and it is the only reason why I have not yet killed you. I am a man in possession of great understanding, and yet you, well you I cannot quite fathom. Even now I am not sure someone like you can quite exist. So tell me, please, how is that you are here? How do you do it?  _ Why _ do you do it?”

The silence stretched for so long that Arthur, more confused then he’d ever been in his entire life, had assumed Merlin wasn’t going to speak. But when he did, it was a soft near-whisper that seemed to hold more power than any shout, “Because they are my friends and there is nothing I would not do for them.”

“Friendship?” Mallory seemed a mix of disappointment and incredulity. “Tell me something, my boy, if the situation were reversed, how long do you think  _ you _ would keep your  _ friend  _ in a position of servitude? Friendship can only exist between equals. It is based on reciprocity. He has promoted his queen and even his knights, but never you. I don’t even think it has occurred to him to rescue you from your station and all its indignities. Doesn’t it bother you that for his own comfort he keeps you so low?”

Merlin sighed loudly through his nose. “And you, my lord, are the great egalitarian?”

“I was like you once, bastard born and from an insignificant peasant village.” Merlin’s features quickly worked themselves into concern. Mallory sighed, “Don’t be stupid, boy! Of course I know of Ealdor and of Hunith. It is my job to know! But do not worry,” his cruel smile came back, “upon my honor, she will come to no harm by my hand. She is only important as leverage over you, and you will be dead by morning.” Arthur had discovered the best way to handle all that he was hearing was to simply shut his brain off. He would not, could not think of it now, but instead focus only on the immediate present. It was this that allowed him to see the clear signs of relief playing out on Merlin’s features. It made him feel a little sick—though not surprised—that his friend could be so visibly unconcerned about his own well-being.

Mallory hadn’t noticed it. Instead he was pacing, “Poverty makes you vulnerable, a servant is even more so. Your status puts you at the mercy of every noble who you have the misfortune of being lent to. You have spent this whole last week running from room to room because it was seen as an honor to be served by the king’s personal manservant. Were they all as kind as the king? There is a faint bruise on your cheek, a fall down the stairs or the anger of a man who knew he would not be punished for striking a peasant?” Arthur’s nausea increased exponentially, he hadn’t noticed and Merlin certainly hadn’t said anything about mistreatment.

“Yet you, I suppose, intend to murder me with respect?” Mallory smiled at Merlin like they were sharing a joke, Merlin did not smile back.

“You are not even remotely afraid, are you? I did not believe this tale at first. Your act was too good, I was nearly fooled. But the fact that you can stand here and feel not even an iota of fear is proof enough that you are no stranger to mortal peril. Would you even be upset by your own death, I wonder… On behalf of your friends, of course. You would regret that they would shed tears over you, but I am not so sure you would be upset for yourself. I have never met anyone so truly selfless… It strikes me as very lonely…” Merlin studied Mallory, his brows drawn up in confusion. “Maybe it is even sadder than all that. Not only are you not afraid, I think perhaps you might welcome the rest.” The lord sighed, seemingly showing genuine sympathy for his soon-to-be victim. This night had taken several unexpected terms, but this might be the most surprising.

Mallory sighed, “I would ask you to join me, but I believe I understand you well enough to know that you will not. It is a shame. I suspect there is little we could not accomplish together.” There was an incongruent kernel of hope in his words, enough that Merlin scoffed.

“I have pledged to serve Arthur until the day I die.”

“Of course you have, but I would not have been able to rest if I hadn’t asked.” It was that genuine regret, Arthur imagines, that moved Merlin to speak.

“You could just not kill me, you know. That’s always on the table.” Why, thought Arthur, did Merlin treat all of this so casually? Mallory had suggested that his demeanor indicated familiarity with danger? Could that be true? Was this really just a Tuesday night for his servant?

“Ah, but I do have to kill you, I do. Camelot, you see, is on the ascension.” Whatever strange mania had overtaken Mallory in the last five minutes completely vanished. He had reverted to the cool elegance that was more familiar to his court persona. “I cannot allow this. It is your dream, and therefore your king’s dream, to unite this land in peace. And I think Arthur, for all his very significant faults, just might accomplish this. But there will be no profit in peace for me. So you see, I must kill you, because without you, your king will fail and Camelot will fall with him.”

“I told you, Arthur does not—”

“And  _ I _ told you he does,” Mallory cut across him annoyed, “The king does not know what he has, but he will know what he has lost. And even if the grief and guilt do not drive him mad, he will still die. Without his great shield, it will not take long for some assassin or bandit or Saxon or whatever ridiculous enemy he collects next will finally succeed in doing what you have prevented so many others from accomplishing.”

“The knights would—”

“No they would not. And whose fault is that? You have been doing their job for nigh on a decade.”

“You underestimate them.”

“And you underestimate yourself.”

“But you don’t. Has it occurred to you that I might live? As you well know, you are hardly the first who has decided to take my life. But I’m still here, while _so many_ _others_ are not.”

“Oh it has occurred to me, my boy. And if you can manage it, more power to you. I have challenged many people, but have never once been challenged in return. I’ve long since run out of hope of ever meeting someone who could best me, but I almost believe that you might.”

A long silence while each man took the measure of the other. “Well if that’s all,” Merlin sighed, “You wanted to speak with me, and you have done that.”

“You are quick to invite death.”

Merlin shrugged, and Arthur thought he might just kill the man himself. “I hope to get at least some sleep tonight.”

Mallory smiled and with a small bow said, “Very well.” He moved quickly after that, his sword already drawn by the time he came out of the bow. He rushed at Merlin, who answered with a quick flit to his right. Because of their angle they hadn’t noticed that Merlin had brought a sword with him, but they heard the clang as it met his opponent’s. The noise of metal hitting metal, familiar to Arthur since childhood, had never sounded so threatening. Its high ring travelled through his ears into his head and down to his heart. It made it impossible to think. Or maybe that was the shock at seeing Merlin, who was  _ supposed  _ to be useless with a sword holding his own against a man who had clearly had a great deal of experience with the weapon. Arthur was nothing but fear turned to surprise as he watched his friend (strange that he could admit that now) parry blow after blow. Merlin’s style could hardly be considered elegant, but it was  _ so Merlin _ . It was quick and clever, though just a little sloppy, and managed to turn many of his stronger opponent’s tricks against him. The detached part of his brain, the one that had personally trained many of his knights in the art of battle, noted that Merlin seemed to have adopted many of his techniques from his friends. He could see bits of Leon or Elyan in the way he blocked this or that strike. That offensive move reminded him of something Gwaine often did. There was even a twist of the wrist that Arthur knew he was associated with. He had turned to see if his companions were similarly shocked—they were—and so actually missed the moment when Merlin’s sword was pushed deep into the upper torso of Lord Mallory. He heard the surprised grunt of pain though, and his head immediately twisted back, worried sick at what he might find.

Time froze as the lord and the servant locked eyes one last time. But then Merlin had removed the sword and Mallory was swaying uncertainly on his feet. He was laughing as he fell, surprised and slightly hysterical. And as he lay there, choking on blood that was quickly filling his lungs, he managed to get out his last words. “I was told that… that you weren’t… you had no skill with a… with a sword. They were wrong.” He was still weakly laughing, “Camelot’s Greatest Knight… the King’s Manservant… marvelous.” With that he died, leaving the confrontation as he had entered into it, with a quiet, deadly laugh on his lips. 

Merlin simply stared at him and his ghastly smile, frighteningly nonchalant. How often had he been forced to look on these twisted, wrecks of humanity? The servant shook his head and looked up to the stars, while numb looking fingers dropped the bloody sword. His breathing wasn’t quite regular, and though his lips were moving no sound came out. At least not one that his quiet observers could make out. The silence stretched on, its own stillness infecting everything it touched. In this void the dead man’s words were reverberating through the onlookers’ minds. Arthur’s own full of shadows and lies, blind kings and young wise men, knights who do not recognize their own, and mostly a man who mourned the death of his enemies as much as his friends. He might have even dredged up the courage to say this aloud if the silence hadn’t been suddenly broken by approaching footsteps.

“My lord?” For the second time that night, Arthur thought it was he that was being addressed. He had no shock left to feel when it was Merlin who turned to face a rapidly approaching druid girl. “My lord?” she asked again.

“Please,” his voice was quiet and sad, “Please, it’s just Merlin if you don’t mind.” He finally gave up on the stars and turned to see a girl a little younger than himself. She was pretty, with glowing skin and a long plait running down her back.

“What has happened here?” her voice was hushed and she avoided looking directly at the body. “There was the sound of swords, but this man is a noble. How can this be?”

“Oh the same reasons these things always happen, it rarely changes.” His eyes swept the body and he sighed, “Will you help me? He should have at least some funerary rites, but I can’t stay here for much longer. I am already later than I would like. You aren’t alone are you? There must be a druid camp nearby?” She nodded. “Good, if you could ask some of your people…”

“It will be done, my lo-Merlin,” she blushed, “you have my word. Though might I ask something?” Curious, he bowed his head in consent while he lowered himself to the dead lord. “I take it this man tried to kill you, why should you be concerned with what happens to his body?”

He smiled at her, and she noticed it was the way camp elders usually smiled at the very young. “It is bad practice to leave bodies behind. It hardly helps avoid suspicion.”

She shook her head, “But you said you wish him to have rites, though he hardly seems to have earned them. That is more than simple caution.”

In a voice that was completely serious he said, “If we deny kindness when it costs us little to give it, then how can we remember to offer it when it is difficult? Besides,” and here his smile turned teasing, “He was really one of the nicer sociopaths I’ve met.” Completely inappropriate attitude towards attempted murder, more than a little handy with a sword, and an unexpected familiarity with druids— _ my lord?! _ —Arthur now knew what he was going to do when they returned to the citadel: lock himself in his room until the world started making sense again.

She matched his jocularity, “I suppose you’ve had a wide sampling?”

“Oh I’d say I’ve met a fair few.” He was now arranging the sword in the dead man’s hands. Satisfied with its position he got up. He did it slower than seemed normal and she frowned at him.

“You were hurt.”

“Yes, but really it’s very minor.” The statement was quickly ruined when he started to sway. Grabbing his elbows she drew him closer to the fire. She examined him, stopping when he got to his right side.

She sounded a little strangled when she said, “I’d hate to see what you consider major.”

Recognizing a fight he wouldn’t win he sat back down with a sigh. “My pack is over there. There are some medical supplies: bandages, some salves and tinctures.” Another sigh, “I don’t think they’ll be necessary, but there’s also a needle and thread.” Dutifully she found the pack he had hidden earlier by a rock and brought it over. She got on her knees and looked at him expectantly.

“You’ll need to remove your shirt.” Reluctantly, he did as he was told. When it was finally off, she gasped. The others very nearly did the same. “Ah,” still sounding strangled, “so this would be major.” The cut on his side was long, beginning a few inches right of his naval and crawling all the way to his lower back at a steep angle. But that was not what drew her, or their attention. It was everything else. From their vantage point, they had a perfect few of his disfigured body. His torso nothing more than a patchwork of scars. There were two, however, that were truly horrifying. The first was a huge, circular burn in the middle of his chest. While it had clearly long since healed, it was still painfully bright against the pale skin. The other, and the one that seemed to force her to speak, was on his upper back.

“People don’t survive serket stings. The pain alone…”

“I am not people,” he said firmly. “Now, I believe you said something about helping with this cut.” His hands guided hers to the supplies in his bag. The action was enough to remind her of the task at hand. With a nod, she examined the wound.

“You’re right about the stitches, but there is something… I can’t be sure.”

“The blade was poisoned.” He said it was such calmness that Arthur was sure he must have misheard. “I know, I can always tell. Cursed and poisoned wounds always feel… squishy.”

“Squishy?” her eyebrows couldn’t have gotten higher if she had been trying. “A technical term I assume.”

He laughed, “Would you expect anything less from an apprentice to the Royal Physician?” he gave her an exaggerated bow. “Besides, I don’t know how else to explain it. May you never experience it, but should you, believe me, you’ll understand.”

“And this is something you have experienced often?”

“Enough times to know Gaius always has something to help. Or he’ll have a book with the information. He’s very good at what he does. And anyway, you needn’t worry, this one isn’t deadly just… inconveniencing.” Between the wince and the tone she appeared to decide it would be better for her own mental health not to ask, however much their secret audience might have wanted her to. Instead she focused on her task. The silence stretched out between them, not exactly uncomfortable, but without direct stimulus Merlin’s expression became brooding. When the girl looked up at him, she frowned, and after a searching glance spoke again.

“What is the king like?”

He barely glanced at her before throwing out, “A dollophead most days.” The familiar word had the immediate effect of calming down the crouching citizens of Camelot. He couldn’t be that far gone if he was still insulting the king. And it helped remind them that whatever they had seen, Merlin was still Merlin.

She laughed, “That isn’t a real word.”

“Words are real because we say them,” he huffed. “Plus, if you knew him, you’d get it.”

“You love him well.” There was no question in her delicate voice.

“As a subject, a servant, and as a friend.” The sincerity and power in his simple words took her aback, seemingly as surprised by the strength of the declaration as their silent watchers. As for Arthur, it simply made his heart clench and guilt flood his stomach.

Though speaking about Arthur seemed to have lifted some of the heaviness that had surrounded him, he still looked upset. Tentatively the girl ventured, “Yet, you regret that you must do so much for him.”

In complete agreement with this assessment, none of them had expected the clear shock to appear on Merlin’s face. Unthinkingly, he tried to turn to look at her and only succeeded in agitating his wound. Though his eyes were clouded with pain, his voice was strong. “Where would you get an idea like  _ that _ ?”

“Your face… you seem plagued by dark thoughts.”

He looked to the sky, again appearing to search the stars for answers. Finally, “These are dark times. I’m sure you’ve heard the whispers. The world is preparing itself for battle.”

“So you cannot enjoy even one victory?” Her head jerked back in the direction of the body.

“The only victories I’m interested in are ones in which everyone walks out alive.” She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off, “I know, I know. Killing is often necessary. It would be better if my heart was harder, but frankly, people who don’t feel the weight of death frighten me. I would hope I am just as affected at 80 as I am today.”

“Perhaps if the rest of the world felt this way, there would be less death to regret.”

“Good,” he looked at her approvingly, “for a second there I was worried even the druids were losing faith in peace.”

Emboldened, she looked him straight in the eye and said, “We have not lost our faith in you either.” He sighed and covered his face with his hands. He mumbled something, but it wasn’t distinct enough for anyone else to make out. “You believe that King Arthur is the Once and Future King, don’t you?”

He looked up at her, “I am certain of it.”

“And yet somehow you doubt his ability to succeed in the coming war?”

“Not his ability, but mine. Morgana’s strength increases daily.”

“Surely, you are the greater power.”

He shrugged, “Probably, but she has a luxury that I don’t. She can spend every second of every day planning and practicing. Plus, there are things that she can do that I can’t or won’t, not even for the sake of destiny.”

“If you believe in destiny and the prophecies, then you must know how this battle will go.”

“It is no guarantee, not anymore.” A thoughtful pause, “Have you ever wondered what happens when destiny and fate disagree with each other?”

“Someone must act as tie breaker.  _ You _ must act as tie breaker.” The onlookers could barely understand a word they were saying, the language was familiar, but the meaning escaped them. This was more than just a matter of a man keeping secrets; Merlin was hiding things from them that they had a right to know as the protectors of Camelot.

“Is this the part where you tell me that even though the fate of an entire kingdom rests on my shoulders, you have every confidence that I’ll succeed?” He sounded teasing, but to them, he looked more like a man drowning.

“No, you might fail. Especially since you seem to have already decided that you will,” she answered snappishly. 

“Decided, I haven’t—”

“Then why do you sound like you’ve already given up? Why are you even still fighting?” The moment became sad as he clearly struggled to come up with an appropriate answer. “It isn’t because of the prophecies or destiny is it? You don’t fight for Albion, or at least not just for Albion, not anymore.”

“For them,” he croaked. “There is nothing I would not do for those that I care about. Is that wrong?”

“Maybe. Especially since not even you seem to think it’s enough.”

“I don’t know.” He sounded small and frightened, not at all like he had been ten minutes ago. The change was almost heartbreaking.

“You must know. There are no coincidences, there are no accidents. The gods do not choose their servants lightly. Kings don’t either.” He smiled up at her, and she brushed her fingers across his cheek, the wound on his side forgotten. “Take heart, while you may doubt yourself, there are those who will see the truth for you. You will save us all. Not because of a prophecy, but because  _ you  _ will accept no other outcome.”

“Thank you.” He reached out his own hand to hers and squeezed it gently. She nodded and went back to tending the cut.

“The king doesn’t know any of this?”

“Arthur knows nothing because I tell him nothing,” he said with something approaching bitterness. He shut his eyes tightly. “I lie every day, possibly because I no longer know how to stop. I lie to him and for him and I wish more than anything that I didn’t have to.”

“Are you worried about what he will do to you?”

“Truthfully, and as much as I wish I wasn’t, yes I am. But that has more to do with me than with him. I have spent my entire life afraid, and I begin to suspect that this fear will never truly leave me. But that’s not why I haven’t told him. If it were only this, I would have overcome my hesitancy a long time ago.”

“What then?”

“I am worried what the truth will do to him. Arthur is a good man, but I had plenty of time to understand the mind of Uther Pendragon and I know just how much damage he was able to inflict on his son. Things are already so precarious; we can no longer afford any mistakes or distractions.”

“Don’t you think he deserves the truth?”

“I think there are many things that Arthur deserves, but that doesn’t mean he is ready for all of them. I keep telling myself that it’s just a matter of timing. One day he will be ready, one day  _ I  _ will be ready, but maybe that’s just the excuse the coward gives so that he can stay in the shadows a little longer. Maybe I am afraid of the light.” His long fingers were rubbing his eyes, so he missed the indignant flash of her eyes.

“You shouldn’t listen to what that awful man said!” He looked at her with startled eyebrows raised several centimeters above what should have been possible. The eyebrows dropped and he suddenly looked amused.

“So you heard a great deal more than the clashing of swords.” He laughed, “Eavesdropping, you know, is a terrible way to go through life. You will hear many things that you wish you hadn’t and which can never be unheard.” She looked a little chastised so he added, “I should know, it’s how I get at least half of all my information.” He winked for good measure and she laughed in return. There was comfortable silence after that. He seemed happier and that satisfied her. Having applied all the healing salves she could, she finally bandaged the wound and helped him put his shirt back on. He no longer swayed, but he still looked far from healthy.

“Will you be able to get back?” Her voice was doubtful.

He merely smiled, “I could find my way back to Camelot blind. This is a walk I’ve taken many times and in worse condition than this.”

She pursed her lips, “That might not be as comforting as you seem to think it is.” He laughed. “I could call someone to escort you.”

“I already risk questions my tired mind can’t answer by sneaking in and out of the citadel in the middle of the night. I think showing up with a druid guard might be a little counterproductive really. Besides, I would not want to put someone at risk, simply because they walked me home.”

“It is said that the king made peace with the druids.”

“And so he did,” his voice was tinged with a strange annoyance, “but so far he has kept this piece to himself. There has been no conversation with the council and no words to the people. Until then, whatever the king has personally said, it is still not safe for a druid to just walk into Camelot.” She had nothing to say to this, and he didn’t seem to want to hear anything anyway. With a shake of his head he attempted a small smile, “So you see, while I appreciate the offer, I’m afraid I can’t accept. But thank you,” he bowed regally, “thank you for your kindness and you advice.” He made to turn away, but was stopped by her clear voice.

“We all have our roles to play. It was an honor to serve you, my lord Emrys.”

He rolled his eyes and began to walk away, but Arthur could see the smile. Just before he disappeared his last words rang out, “Really, it’s just Merlin.”

They watched as the girl continued to stare at the space he had just occupied before turning back to the body with a sigh. Arthur desperately wanted to leave. He felt they had all sorely overstayed their welcome. Merlin was right: eavesdropping had bought him little peace of mind. In fact, he had never felt such a painful jumble of emotions in the whole of his life. He wanted to go find answers, but he was also deathly afraid of them. There were so many implications in all that he had heard, some of which would have truly huge ramifications if proven true. Merlin didn’t think Arthur could handle the truth and he was starting to believe that he was right. He looked to the others who all had similar looks of shocked confusion.

There was worry there too, of course there was. Even now he was bleeding from a wound he had gotten in the service of his king, something which would never have been expected of a servant. It was nearly enough to make Arthur seriously consider locking Merlin in his room until he could learn some sense. And then there were the scars. How would any of them ever forget the incredible mass of scars that marred their friend? It seemed impossible that there could ever have been that many people who had wanted to harm Merlin. To him, it seemed about on level with being particularly aggressive towards a slightly dopey puppy, unwarranted and unnatural. Though if he understood correctly, that was at least half of Merlin’s plan. He had become a master of misdirection, playing on the assumptions of his friends as well as his enemies. It was all maddening. There was no way to process any of this, but before he could even really formulate a plan to slip away without catching the attention of the druid girl they heard a voice call out.

“Niniane! Is that you?” An old woman had just appeared. She took one look at the girl and at the dead body. “So it’s true then? You have just seen Emrys?”

She nodded, “He has asked that we take care of the body.”

“All say that he is a good man, I would expect nothing less from him.” With that the old woman set to work. She must not have been entirely insensible of the task Merlin had left them because she had certainly come prepared. She had a pack with her, from which she removed several vials of what looked to Arthur like the usual druid anointments for the dead. She also had a water skin which she used to wash away some of the blood from the wound. “Don’t just stand there, girl! This will go quicker if there are two of us! Others are coming to help with the pyre, but we can easily do the cleansing on our own.” The words woke the girl from her stupor. She mumbled an apology and began to help her elder.

“Goodness, you almost seem to be in a state of shock! Was the presence of Emrys really so powerful?” The old woman was going for a sort of world-weary cynicism, but even she couldn’t help the curiosity in her voice.

“No it’s not that… It’s just… He was much less than I thought he would be, but somehow… Somehow it only made him greater… I don’t know if I can explain it… He’s a very contradictory man.”

“Hmmm, his kind always are.” She paused and studied the young woman carefully, “You know, if I didn’t know any better, my girl, I’d say you were besotted by our lord.”

“It’s not,” she blushed, “I’m not… Don’t be—”

“It would not be so unusual if you were. The tales of his heroics are legendary and they say he has handsome enough features, strange ones, but expressive and very kind.”

“Yes, and something in his manner too… I can’t…” she gave up on finishing her sentence and instead seemed to redouble her focus on the task in front of her. Her companion was studying her again, this time with a more careful air. If anything, Arthur thought the older woman looked a little sad.

Finally with a sense of great deliberation she said, “Child, there is no harm in having a small crush, but you know you will only be inviting pain if you nurtured it to anything stronger.”

“Really I am not!” A pause, “But even if I was, who’s to say that it could never come to anything?”

“You know better than that. The fate of his lover is well known to all those who know how to listen.” Arthur could make neither head nor tails of this statement. As far as he knew, Merlin had not once expressed a single amorous inclination towards anyone. In fact, Arthur had long since suspected that his manservant might turn out to be one of those lifelong, perpetual bachelors. It saddened him a little, but Merlin didn’t seem to think it was a problem, so why should he? That he might have had a lover at one point and that this affair apparently hadn’t ended well was shocking news to him. 

The old woman began speaking again, this time unmistakably sad. “There are some people, you know, whose hearts are constructed in such a fashion that having loved once, they will never do so again. All I have ever heard of Emrys convinces me that he is just such a man. Whatever romantic happiness he might have had was laid to rest with that poor girl’s body. He left his heart on the shores of that lake, and I don’t think he has any intention of picking it back up again.” The girl was quiet, but she seemed to be struggling against tears. Arthur felt the same. Guinevere grabbed his hand and he turned to see her own silent weeping. This was too much. He didn’t want this information about his friend. Merlin wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. Yet whatever pain he was currently feeling, it was nothing compared to what he felt at the girl’s next words.

“Is it true,” she began haltingly, “that she died by the king’s own hand? The current king, that is.” Arthur’s heart stopped and he could feel the stares of his companions.

The older one sighed, “That is certainly what they say.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“If it is true, then Emrys is an even better man than I would have thought possible. To forgive someone, even a friend, for something such as that… You’ve met the man now. Do you believe him, or anyone for that matter, capable of it? Though if there is such a person, I imagine it would be him.” The girl had no answer to this question; neither did Arthur, though a part of him had always known his friend’s capacity for kindness almost boundless. As the old woman had said, if anyone it would be Merlin, which is why he was also the last to deserve such a fate. He suddenly felt sick again, the feeling of a stain that would never come out. More than ever he wanted to go talk to Merlin, that or maybe never speak to him again.

After another weighty pause the girl tried another quiet argument, “He did love again. Haven’t you heard the story of the knight?”

“Aye, I have. And it must have been a great love indeed that let the knight sacrifice his own life for Emrys, but don’t you see? That is not one, but two lovers now personally put to fire at the lake. Would he, would anyone risk a third life? Would you?”

“It’s not fair!” In fact, the girl sounded like she was choking on the unfairness of it all.

“Fair, child? Of course, it isn’t fair! No one has ever accused the triple goddess of being kind, least of all to her servants.” The old woman got up and kneeled next to the young one. She put her arms around the girl, “Come now, there will be joy in this story too. It is all about balance, no great work has ever been accomplished without great sacrifice. I guarantee he knows this as well as anyone. Do not mourn for him where he would not mourn for himself. In fact, do not mourn for him at all, for what a world he will build! Come now, it isn’t so bad.” She wiped away the girl’s tears with her sleeve, “Come now, my love, we have done all we can for this poor creature. Let’s go tell the others that we are ready for them. Come now, come now.” She helped the girl get up and quickly collected her things. “Go on, child, I will be right behind you.” The girl vanished into the shadows. The old woman quickly followed, but just before she was beyond the shadows, Arthur watched her turn back and he swore that she looked directly at him. She said nothing, though, instead letting the stillness speak eloquence for her.

Arthur was tempted to let the silence work its powers on him as well. Maybe he could stay seated as he was forever, avoiding any and all potentially life shattering conversations and evidently world ending battles. He even might of, if his wife’s hand wasn’t suddenly pressed against his face. She looked into his eyes worriedly, “Arthur, he’ll be back soon. We have to go now.” Feeling strangely detached from reality, he only just managed to nod numbly. It was in this state that he managed to fumble into Camelot—with considerable help from his friends, of course.

He was barely aware of Leon surreptitiously going to one of the guards as they passed through the courtyard. He was curious, but not enough to ask. And anyway, the matter was cleared up when he heard him quietly answer the other’s questions. “—not back yet—” Alarm was the first emotion that made its way through his overworked mind. Merlin surely should have returned by now, he had left long before they had. What did it mean if he wasn’t back yet? Tuning in and out, he knew the knights were discussing what to do about Merlin’s absence. Arthur knew he should offer something, but found himself completely unequal to the task. He had no idea what they ultimately decided and before he could ask he was being shepherded into his bedchambers. Guinevere sat him down gently on the bed, and he wasn’t wholly surprised that the others seemed to have decided they weren’t going anywhere.

“Arthur,” Guinevere guided his face towards her, “Arthur, we have to talk about what we heard. I know you don’t want to, but” she bit her lip, an old habit that only came out when she was worried, “you’re going to have to make some decisions.” Arthur closed his eyes, trying to shut out the rest of the world. “Please, Arthur, what are you thinking?”

He felt a spark of rage at her question. What was he supposed to be thinking! “How can I answer that? Clearly,  _ Merlin _ ,” he hadn’t quite meant to spit the name out like that, “has a lot to answer for. Clearly, he has lied, but…” he took a calming breath, “there must be an explanation. Something that will make all of this… There just has to be… Merlin deserves a chance to explain himself, doesn’t he?” For once, he didn’t wince at the desperation in his voice. He sounded young and weak, but tonight he wouldn’t care. And even if he had, Guinevere’s answering smile probably would have been enough to make up for it. A quick glance at the others’ obvious relief solidified these feelings.

Satisfied with this, Arthur finally allowed his mind to retreat into itself. Snippets of earlier conversations played over in his mind, while he tried desperately to assemble them into a recognizable pattern. It was ridiculous, but he was pretty sure they must have put him to bed at some point. One second his mind was reverberating with the enigmatic phrase “My lord, Emrys” and the next he was waking up to warm sunlight and an unnaturally silent servant organizing his breakfast at a nearby table. He turned to search for his wife, and wasn’t wholly surprised to see she wasn’t there, though he couldn’t quite remember why he shouldn’t be.

Bleary eyed he was about to ask why he wasn’t being served by Merlin, but just as he thought the name, the answer painfully hit him. He suppressed a groan so as not to alert the unknown servant to his distress. Lord Mallory had been right at least on Merlin’s incongruous position. He was his servant, but he wasn’t. A fact made clear as the practically faceless stranger left his chambers with a tiny nod. With thoughts of the now very dead lord in his mind, he shot up. Merlin had killed someone last night. Someone who had brought with him a small retinue… And he wasn’t coming back…

Before he could get too worked up about this, there was a knock at his door. His “enter” probably sounded more startled than was normal. Leon and Guinevere cautiously walked in, the latter smiling brightly when she saw that Arthur had woken on his own. Focusing only on that, Arthur could almost fool himself into thinking last night had been a terrible nightmare, but the anxiety from Leon crushed those hopes.

“What are we going to do about Lord Mallory’s people?” The question more or less sprung out of him with little thought on his part. The abruptness caught both of them by surprise.

“And a happy morning to you too, princess!” Gwaine had just entered the room, no knock, and might have passed for his normally cheeky self if his eyes hadn’t looked so serious.

Leon, sparing a quick exasperated look for his fellow knight, turned back to the king. “It would appear that Lord Mallory,” Leon’s normally ultra-proper tone was lost in a moment of obvious distaste, “truly was prepared for an outcome in which he didn’t return. He left behind a note explaining his sudden departure in his guest chambers and his head of staff had a conversation with the steward before he left. It all looks a little suspicious, but mostly on his part. I doubt any of our guests will question it.” Relieved of at least one thing, Arthur nodded appreciatively at the report.

“And what of Merlin?”

Gwaine stepped forward with a grimace. “Still not back as far as any of us can tell. I’ve talked to Gaius. Frankly, I can’t tell if he knew what Merlin was getting up to or not, but he certainly seemed worried when I came looking for him. Not that he didn’t try to hide it, but now that we know to look for it…”

“Did he try an offer an explanation?” Arthur’s question was more curious than accusatory, which seemed a good sign to the others.

“Left early to collect some herbs,” Gwaine answered with an eye roll, “an activity which he implied wasn’t all that unusual. Combine that with all of the times I’d be willing to swear Merlin wasn’t at the tavern and, well, this is all turning out to be something a lot bigger than we bargained for.”

Arthur rubbed his hands against his face and sighed deeply. “Are we searching for him?”

“Well we were waiting to ask you—” Arthur cut Leon off with an incredulous look.

Guinevere attempted to save the poor knight, “Though Elyan might have gone down to the Lower Town earlier today to run some… errands.”

Arthur nodded, “And we obviously can’t do anything official without alerting our guests… Well this is looking like the beginnings of a fantastic day.” A weighted silence followed, “Have you ever noticed that Merlin never does anything by halves?” They all laughed, but it did little to alleviate the underlying worry they felt both because of and over their friend.

The following hours were not nearly as bad as Arthur feared they would be, but they weren’t exactly easy either. Overseeing the preparation of a mass leave-taking was a surprisingly involved business, meaning Arthur could surrender himself to useless prattle for hours at a time instead of stewing over an errant servant. If the gusto which the others were exhibiting was any clue, Arthur would say they must have felt much the same.

But they still worried. Elyan came back a few hours later with a decidedly bothered expression, leaving little doubt over the success of his ‘errands’. Still, Arthur knew he couldn’t send anyone to go looking for Merlin, not yet. At the moment, the only people who knew he was missing were those whose prolonged absence would be noted by the visitors. (There had already been comments on Elyan’s disappearance.) And no one was too keen to widen their little circle by letting one of the lesser knights in on Merlin’s secrets—especially since they weren’t entirely clear on the exact nature of those secrets.

It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that any of them actually saw him. By this point, the entire ground floor of the castle was swarming with servants rushing in and out of places and their masters engaging in polite but boring conversation. The more important ones were lounging in one of the less formal council chambers. The serious talks were all long since completed, but there were a few matters still left to discuss. It was hardly the strict debates from a few days ago, so it was entirely proper for the King’s manservant to slip in sometime in the middle of Lord Ayr’s mumblings over the newer tax codes. 

It was absolutely infuriating. He walked in like absolutely nothing had happened, just a quick, vaguely apologetic nod towards the king, and then he walked to where the rest of the servants were congregating. He was the picture of (practiced!) nonchalance, completely, maddeningly normal looking. Arthur, however, did not feel so in control of himself. By some strange luck, most of the midnight party was in the room and for comfort, Arthur quickly checked to make sure that they were all in similar states of disarray. He was not disappointed. Elyan’s eyes were practically bugged out, while Gwaine seemed to have swallowed his own tongue. Even Percival and Leon, both typically much cooler under pressure, couldn’t help but follow the servant with their eyes. Guinevere, in her customary seat next to him, was grasping his arm rather painfully.

“My Lord?” Arthur turned to see Lord Ayr looking at him in somewhat affronted confusion. He must have missed a question requiring his response.

“I am terribly sorry,” he attempted, though the looks he was receiving suggested he must have still sounded too distracted for polite company. Several of his table fellows had followed his eyes to the servants, and must have realized who he had been staring at. Arthur was surprised to see some of them shooting dirty looks at Merlin. Unbidden, Mallory’s words about the condition of servants came back to him. He had suggested Merlin had been hit; Arthur wondered if the perpetrator was sitting with him at this table.

He tried to draw his attention back to the people in front of him, but not before Merlin, with his almost supernatural ability to sense Arthur’s distress, turned to him with a question in his eyes. Arthur closed his eyes with a deep breath. As subtle as possible he shook his head, trying to indicate “later” to the servant, and fully immersed himself into the useless small talk of nobles about to take their leave.

When all the foreigners had finally gone, Arthur found himself in a strange position. On the one hand, his desperation to talk to his manservant had only increased once he had absolute proof that he was safe. On the other, his dread about what this conversation might bring had also gotten much worse. There was also the question of privacy. Ideally, the kind of questions Arthur had in mind would be better served if it were just the two of them, but the sad truth was that he didn’t quite trust being alone with Merlin. Just what he was worried about, Arthur couldn’t quite say.

This hesitancy was what ultimately defined their first interaction after they had all discovered Merlin was a great deal more than he let on. Just like last night, the royal couple and the Round Table Knights were eating dinner together. The food was all set and Merlin was just waiting for word to leave. He was quiet, but expectant and it occurred to Arthur how sad that was. This man had been at the Round Table too, and they felt no shame sharing a meal with him when they were hunting or on a quest, yet the idea of inviting him to sit down now seemed almost unthinkable. Had it always been like that? Arthur didn’t think so, but he also couldn’t quite identify when the gap that separated them from Merlin had started growing into a chasm.

“If that’s all…” Arthur looked at Merlin sharply, they all did, but he either didn’t see or chose to ignore the sudden increase in attention. His voice was quieter than usual. On closer inspection, Merlin didn’t look quite as normal as he had thought earlier. For one thing, the man was favoring his right side. It wasn’t obvious—confirming that Merlin had practice hiding injuries—but was noticeable enough since Arthur knew to look for it. He looked tired, quickly approaching haggard, and his few smiles failed to reach his eyes. The exhaustion, Arthur realized with a bit of shame, was not as unusual looking on Merlin as he might have liked. Studying the man, Arthur devised a strategy to try to get the information he needed.

Play it safe, he decided. “No, that isn’t all,” he was purposely putting on what Merlin usually referred to as the ‘supercilious prat’ voice; he was not, after all, supposed to have any clue as to what Merlin had been doing last night. “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation for this morning?” And last night. And possibly the last near decade. 

“Sorry about that,” he said softly. He looked uncomfortable, almost scared, and was carefully avoiding direct eye contact. Arthur wondered if he would have found this behavior strange if he wasn’t already clued in. Technically speaking, Merlin was just exhibiting normal servant behavior.

“Spent another night at the tavern, I suppose?” Arthur wasn’t sure why he said that. He just wanted to see what would happen if he threw out the typical response, even knowing that Gaius had already told Gwaine about herb gathering. He didn’t think the others really appreciated the question, they certainly looked huffy enough, but luckily Merlin was too busy rolling his eyes in the most annoyingly exaggerated way possible to notice.

“I was not,” he said, brokering absolutely no arguments. “I just had an errand to run in the forest… I think Gaius mentioned that he needed me to collect some ingredients for him? Gwaine?” Arthur, like Merlin, looked back at the knight. He met the king’s eyes with an expression that was half pained and half awe-struck. Arthur got the distinct impression that Gwaine wanted to whistle in appreciation. This moment had been one that Arthur had been particularly dreading, when Merlin would lie directly to his face, something he evidently did often, but this time Arthur would know about it. Yet, in actuality, Merlin had been very careful not to actually lie at all. Oh he had implied for all he was worth, but in the most pedantic, technical sense hadn’t uttered a single falsehood. It was truly impressive, but in a way that left Arthur feeling terribly sad for himself and for his friend.

“Aye, he did,” the knight answered carefully. Merlin nodded, satisfied with this response and turned back expectantly to Arthur.

“You should have come to me for permission,” Merlin winced and Arthur nearly did the same. Considering Arthur was already being bothered by this strange guilt over the manservant, now was not the best time to call attention to the fact that by his station, Merlin’s time was not actually his own.

“I know, but, well…” he sighed, “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting it to take so long. I ran into a little bit of trouble, and well, the morning just sort of escaped me.” It was a fairly typical statement coming from Merlin, who wasn’t exactly known for time management and was, in general, a magnet for trouble. If this had been any other day, Arthur probably would have started teasing him and this conversation would be done with.

“Trouble?” there was a quick flash of disappointment from Merlin. Clearly he had hoped for the teasing.

“Oh it was nothing, really,” Merlin answered a little too quickly. “I mean, you know me.” Oh, how Arthur wanted to believe that, but it was getting more and more difficult to trust in a Merlin who seemed to keep changing his shape right in front of him. Merlin tried one of his blinding grins combined with a sort of self-deprecating eye-roll and once again Arthur is struck with the idea that normally this would have worked. Merlin’s bright smile had always had the incredible effect of masking shadows, even those in the man’s very own eyes, but not this time, when his agitation was so impossible to miss.

And it was the agitation that did it. It was the fear in his eyes that caused Arthur to back off. Merlin was scared of them, scared of  _ him _ . Scared—No, terrified in a way that Arthur had never seen him. He hadn’t had the time to really think about it, but Merlin had even admitted to being afraid of him last night. It broke his heart. 

And at that moment, he knew he could push Merlin into telling the truth. It wouldn’t even take much. At best, the man had gone at least thirty-six hours without sleep, though probably a great deal more, and, as he stood there before them, he certainly looked vulnerable. Plus, he had admitted to that girl that he desperately wanted to tell Arthur the truth, so it would probably be easy to force him to it now. But if he did, he doubted Merlin would thank him for it. In the end it might very well help more than harm them, but only at the expense of a lot of mutual and needless pain. Looking at Merlin now--and seeing a flash of last night’s scars--he felt an almost horror at the thought of causing him any more hurt than was even now still visible on his face. Last night Merlin said Arthur wasn’t ready and had also hinted that he himself might not be either, and maybe Arthur should trust that instinct. He had long ago accepted, though never admitted out loud, that Merlin’s instincts were almost always right.

So instead of forcing his friend he simply waved his hand in a careless dismissal, “Unfortunately for me, you’re right, I know you all too well.” He crossed his arms, “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.” The answering smile might have been the first genuine one they had seen from him in days, and was impossible not to respond to, though Arthur’s was much more measured.

“Oh I don’t know about that,  _ sire _ . Honestly, I don’t think you’d even know what to do with a perfectly normal servant. You’d definitely get bored.” Merlin was already turning to leave, visibly relieved that he was being allowed to go. It actually stung a little.

“Wait, Merlin!” Guinevere, evidently feeling the sting even more than Arthur, attempted to pull up her normally inviting smile. “You’d be welcome to stay,” she gestures to the food, “really, it would be lovely.” Merlin’s eyes widened at the invitation, quickly darting around the room in painful apprehension. Though he had eaten with the two royals in their private chambers and might even have gotten away with eating with the knights in theirs, it was unheard of for a servant to eat at the same table as the nobility in relative public. Several emotions flit across his face before he settled on something like bland appreciation.

“Thank you, my lady,” the title sounded strange, when had Merlin stopped calling the queen by her name? “But I’ve actually got something of a prior engagement.” He gave them a dopey smile, “Gaius accused me of skipping out on meals and has told me that I’m expected to report to him at six sharp for dinner.” It was a good story, really. Full of the sorts of distractions they now realized Merlin depended on, but Guinevere was not to be deterred.

“Well surely he’ll believe me if I tell him you’ve eaten with us.”

“I’m not so sure,” he replied with an easy laugh, “though if you want to brave ‘the eyebrow’ you’re more than welcome. I should warn you he’s been a bit on edge lately.” Arthur couldn’t tell if Merlin was telling the truth, but all had been said with such effortless good humor, that it suddenly occurred to Arthur that he really might be wasting Merlin’s talents by keeping him a servant, because here was an extremely talented courtier. Had he really been keeping Merlin low for—what had Mallory said—his own comfort? 

Guinevere nodded weakly, realizing what they all had: Merlin, for whatever reason, did not want to eat with them and had no interest in being persuaded. “I understand,” she said softly. He gave a parting nod to the king and queen and then acknowledged the others with a friendly look. Then he was gone.

They were all struck by a wave of exhaustion the moment the door closed behind him. Almost en masse they slumped closer to the table. “Arthur,” his wife began, “we have to fix this.”

He dropped his head into his hands, “I know, I know, but I just…” he sighed and let his head fall to the table, making a satisfying clunk as it did so.

“Why didn’t you ask him about last night?” Arthur attempted to look at Gwaine through unfocused eyes.

He laughed humorously, “He wasn’t afraid last night. Of Lord Mallory, I mean. Knowingly, he went out to meet a man who wanted to murder him, and he wasn’t scared in the slightest. But he was terrified of me. What does that mean, what have I done that would cause him to be so afraid of me?”

“Or is it what he’s done?” Percival asked quietly. 

Arthur looked at the knight sharply, but had to sigh at the sense in those words. “Or is it what he’s done,” the king repeated listlessly.

“Does it matter?” Guinevere’s tone was sharp and threatening.

“It might,” he answered with an equally tight voice.

“Well there’s your answer. That’s what you’ve done to scare him, princess, and that’s what you have to fix. If you’re his friend—”

“I’m his friend!”

“But does Merlin know that?” they all turned to Leon in surprise, his contemplative tone seeming out of place in the charged atmosphere. “Not just for you, sire,” he raised a placating hand to a furious king, “I mean for all of us. It’s just… Well, he was quite clear last night about his loyalty to us, but… what if he’s less sure about the reverse?” Arthur wanted to feel indignant about this, but he found that any potential rebuttal was buried under a frankly alarming amount of instances where Merlin might have gotten the impression that he wasn’t particularly valued, especially from Arthur himself. The man had, after all, been noticeably silent when Mallory had made accusations of mistreatment.

“He looked so shocked that he would be invited to eat with us,” Guinevere added, again reverting back to worriedly working her lower lip. “Oh Arthur, we really must fix this.” The dinner that followed was full of similar resolutions. They talked over what they had heard, adding to it other observations, but throughout they were careful to never say the one word that would have condemned their friend. Even then, there was more than enough to suggest it, to be working so closely with the druids after all, but to say it aloud… well none of them were quite prepared for that. Instead they stayed silent about that, and silent towards Merlin about the whole affair. Though they made marked attempts to treat him better, not a word was spoken about what they had seen and heard, no matter how much they wanted to ask.

Though that didn’t mean an odd question didn’t slip out from time to time. Strange, out of context questions that usually put the manservant on edge, but never enough to completely scare him off. Arthur was the worst, asking Merlin if he knew any druids in the middle of him putting on his armor or if he had ever had a girlfriend as they were bunking down during a hunting trip. The first was met with an amused huff; the latter with stony monosyllabic sentences that didn’t really say anything but seemed to imply everything, haunting Arthur for weeks afterward.

And of course they noticed things, things that when added up could only lead to a handful of conclusions. It was strange really, what a person was able to see if they just opened their eyes. Suddenly, the sort of luck they had when facing bandits seemed even more extraordinary than before. Almost too extraordinary to be believed. And then there were the disappearances, because now it was impossible to blow off Merlin’s absences. Sometimes they didn’t last very long, but sometimes they lasted several interminably long days. They had to pretend they didn’t notice he was gone, and then had to act normal when he returned, and it was all so pathetically sad because Merlin was actually counting on their inattention, and only a few months ago he would have been right to do so. A lot of the time, they had no clue where or why he had gone, and that was always nerve-wracking, but somehow it was the other times that were worse. Because sometimes they could guess exactly what sort of threat he had taken upon himself and they weren’t even allowed to acknowledge it when it miraculously disappeared.

But that was nothing to the fear that he wasn’t going to return one day, that eventually all of his shadows would catch up to him and each disappearance was suddenly rendered his last. Or the terror of the in between outcomes in which he came back, but less than whole and Gaius couldn’t even comfort them because he had to concentrate and it. Was. Just. That. Close. In those moments, Arthur was riddled with guilt, but he still said nothing because the awful truth remained: he still wasn’t ready. This led to the other awful truth: his cowardice might very well get his friend killed, and worse still, killed in a manner that they would never know. If he was to fall during one of these damnable trips of his, there was every possibility they wouldn’t even have a body to bury. Somehow, Arthur doubted Merlin’s murderer would be half as kind as Merlin was to his own victims.

It would be impossible to guess how long this miserable cycle would have lasted, had not Merlin himself broken it. That was the day everything changed. The day when it became impossible to continue to ignore the obvious answer, because that day Merlin used magic in front of them and in a way that couldn’t be unseen. And it would be impossible to say why that day was different for the warlock than all the other days he had managed to successfully keep his secret. Maybe he had sensed a change in his friends, or maybe the truth was that his secret could never trump his concern for the safety of others. Maybe he didn’t think at all and this was just a manifestation of the same instinct that had saved the prince’s life almost a decade prior. Or maybe he wasn’t the one who had changed at all. Maybe it was that they had finally felt ready to see the truth.

But whatever it was, the king was glad for it and glad for the almost year he had had to prepare himself for this unspoken thing. He was glad because he saw that his friend’s strength fled from him the moment his eyes returned to blue. Glad because he knew what to do when that friend was suddenly kneeling in front of him waiting for his judgment. And glad because he had a clear enough mind to know that there was very little for him to judge. 

So he embraced him instead. He didn’t even feel ashamed doing it. It had been a very trying year, and he suspected they both needed it. And though there would still be a lot of fighting later—there was only so much that a prepared mind could do against bitter truths—the middle of a wrecked banquet hall was not the place for such things. In actuality, and just like it had been when Merlin was just an idiot and Arthur was still a prattish prince, wrecked banquet halls were really places for beginnings and so that’s what they did. Merlin had just saved Arthur’s life, after all, and, really, that sort of thing always merits something quite special.

**Author's Note:**

> When my friend first read this a whole six years ago they said it wasn't finished. They're probably right. I have written exactly four and a half pages of follow up with the actual reveal, but this honestly wouldn't be my first priority for partially finished Merlin fics. BUT STILL it's not like impossible that I might come back to this one today and add a second chapter!
> 
> Here is a fun fact: the first several versions of this did not contain the obvious reference to Mercelot, but clearly my third eye opened in late 2019. BELIEVE ME if I was to ever write some completely new Merlin fic instead of revisiting these golden oldies, Merlin would have the poly ending he deserved.
> 
> Comments are much appreciated! Also, feel free to psychoanalyze 2014 Jenn's commitment to writing from Arthur's POV since I mostly hate him.


End file.
